


Metalwork

by slothesaurus



Series: Aone Takanobu Week 2016 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aone and Futakuchi being besties gives me life ok, Datekougyou | Date Tech, Gen, dateko is just a school full of my kids, especially their moments in the light novel have mercy furudate-sensei its too cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 20:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6535288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slothesaurus/pseuds/slothesaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://aonetakanobu-week.tumblr.com/themes">Aone Takanobu Week 2016 - Day 1: Pets/Animals</a></p><p>It’s Sunday. It’s a rest day. Aone should feel tranquil, but all he can focus on is the beginning tremble of a storm in his bones. It burns the front of his torso, sizzling like lightning in the shape of a number six counts too early than he’s used to. It’s a blistering heat printed on the shirt he has hanging on the clothesline. It’s damp and sticky, uncomfortable and unsettling on his skin. </p><p>And–</p><p>It’s the <i>future.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Metalwork

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Day 1 of Aone Takanobu Week, which I valiantly failed to complete all seven days of. But despite my horrible punctuality, I'll still try to finish the other days at my own pace.
> 
> For now, please enjoy Day 1 - Pets/Animals. It was ridiculously fun to write.
> 
> Aone is my favorite son and you can't take him from me no matter what.

 

 

 

\---

 

 

It’s Sunday. It’s a rest day. Aone should feel tranquil, but all he can focus on is the beginning tremble of a storm in his bones. It burns the front of his torso, sizzling like lightning in the shape of a number six counts too early than he’s used to. It’s a blistering heat printed on the shirt he has hanging on the clothesline. It’s damp and sticky, uncomfortable and unsettling on his skin. 

And–

It’s the _future_.

It’s Sunday. It’s a rest day. It’s also the last day before Moniwa hands over the team to Futakuchi, and it makes Aone’s limbs ache for _one more set_ , for _one more block_. 

For a lot of things all 191.8 centimeters of him can’t reach.

 

 

\---

 

 

Aone wakes like chilled kuromitsu, veins laced in black honey and sugar, pace matching the earth’s heavy sighs. His head feels stuffed with mochi, every pound given to the rice haunting his temples and the back of his eyes.

He opens them slowly, warmth dappling over his face past the leaves outside the window beside his bed. The sunlight is cliche and cruel, heavy heat stabbing his eyes and making the throbbing in his head worse.

Aone huffs out a wisp of breath, shy, even in his own home, to take up too much space than he already does. He turns his head to the left, away from the wall and his window, and stares at the gentle darkness draping over the rest of his room.

The dimness is a relief to his eyes, a cool balm pressing its fingertips on his forehead. His desk is mostly neat, 3DS still charging on top of unfinished literature homework. His schoolbag is huddled with the paper bag housing his science project at the other end of the room, right next to his bookshelf. 

And–

–There, like a suit of armor cocooning the shoulders of his hanger, dangling from one of the knobs of his closet door, is his uniform. Freshly ironed and crisp in Dateko greens and whites, his new number greets him good morning like the bite of the morning cold.

Aone wonders if Futakuchi feels odd about his new number, struggling to paint the picture in his head, mind switching out the boy’s face for someone else.

 

 

\---

 

 

 

_“Alright, Aone.”_

_Moniwa bends his neck left, then right. The number two on his shirt ripples from his shifting. He stretches his fingers and eyes the ball waiting in his underclassman’s hands, prepared to send Aone back another toss._

_His captain smiles, soothing and calm, a stream ready to catch the plummet of a waterfall._

_“One more!”_

 

 

\---

 

 

Aone rolls over, sunlight splintering past his eyes and crowning him with a migraine to wear for the rest of the day.

 

 

\---

 

 

Breakfast is delicious, albeit less than ideally balanced.

There’s still a lot of monaka left over from the box his mother had brought home yesterday. He peers at them through the thin plastic window adorning the top of the cardboard container, crispy mochi wafers cut into kigiku, sakura, and ume blossoms blooming in his fridge’s top shelf, and wonders if his parents have already managed to eat some.

Aone leans his head against the fridge door, temple pressing against a cold bottle of ponzu sauce.

He lets the subtle vibrations of the refrigerator ease some of the tension his migraine is giving him, the motor humming along as Aone sways the fridge door a little.

His stomach grumbles, and he sighs in defeat, carefully taking the box out and shutting the door with his foot as he heads over to the kettle to make some genmaicha.

Aone looks over his shoulder, feeling ridiculous but compelled to make sure his parents really aren’t home before he leans back against their kitchen countertop, easing himself up on to the wooden surface right beside the box of monaka and the kettle.

He smiles a little at his feet, wiggling his toes and swinging them a bit. It’s rare that he finds himself in this position, and if he points his feet downward with a little effort he’d be able to touch the kitchen floor again, but even the tiniest piece of space between Aone and the maple floorboards makes him feel like a little kid, and he secretly loves that.

He waits until the kettle whistles, picking his mother’s Totoro mug from the rack to his right, and pours the golden brown liquid into the mug without spilling a drop.

Aone blows on it gently, cupping the ceramic with large hands, the scent of roasted rice tickling his nose as he goes back to swinging his feet against the counter.

He shifts his grip to his right hand, grabbing one of the monaka blossoms with the other and eyeing it thoughtfully.

The mochi waver is thin and crispy, jam filling earthy in a deep azuki bean red. This one is shaped like an ume blossom and it’s very pretty. 

 _Very_ pretty.

But–

Aone feels a familiar swirl of nimbus puff out of his heart and into his limbs. It tingles and _aches_. Aches, and aches, and aches _oh so familiarly_. Aches like his palms after too many blocking drills, like his head on bright mornings or during loud classes, like–

Like his _eyes_ , after the Interhigh Preliminaries, loss a tall shadow that still looms over their Iron Wall.

He blinks, thinks. Of other things. Of monaka.

He thinks about monaka eaten with milk from the gym’s vending machine. Monaka filled with jam the color of snow on winter mornings stuffed in a messy bento, cradled possessively in Kamasaki’s arms, Futakuchi’s wrist pinned under his leg with Sasaya watching in amusement beside him.

Aone shoves the ume blossom in his mouth and sips his tea, legs still swinging.

He looks at the clock above the fridge across from where he’s sitting, then down at his lap, still in loose pajama pants with Vabo-chan printed in a white doodled scrawl all over them.

It’s still early, and the weather is lovely and bright outside. His parents are still on call and could probably use a snack. And if Aone’s being honest to his tea and his breakfast, if he stays at home today he feels like he might cut his volleyball jersey in half with a pair of scissors.

“Do I still have clean jeans?” He asks his next monaka, eyeing the sakura blossom patiently before biting it in half.

 

 

\---

 

 

Aone does, in fact, still have one pair of clean jeans. They’re black, slim and slightly worn. He slides them on most of the way, then jumps up before pulling up the zipper and buttoning them closed. He stares at his volleyball uniform peeking past the back of his open closet doors, and grunts softy before quickly hanging it up inside with the rest of his clothes.

He grabs one of his favorite shirts out of a neat pile of folded tops, the lemon yellow v-neck butter soft from too many washings between his fingers. There are thick brush strokes on the front, building up the shapes of a sweet potato holding hands with a chestnut, emoji-like faces showing something akin to contentment.

Aone can’t help but smile at them before ducking the shirt on, feeling oddly lighter once his head pops out of the neckhole and the fabric settles over him.

He double checks his wallet, his keys, train card, and his phone before trudging down the steps where the packed bento and thermos he prepared earlier wait for him. He piles them in a paper bag before heading out, squinting at the vibrant brightness of the day, mildly longing for his pair of sunglasses but thinking better of it. He already has a migraine, he’d rather not look twice as intimidating while he’s at it.

Aone walks off towards the station, storm clouds beneath his ribcage leaking out and leaving a trail of heaviness dissipating behind him.

 

 

\---

 

 

To: Aone  
From: Futakuchi  
Subject: Lit hw  
Message: Did u finish the lit essay yet?

To: Futakuchi  
From: Aone  
Subject: Re: Lit hw  
Message: No not yet. ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ  
  
To: Aone  
From: Futakuchi  
Subject: LOL  
Message: R u kidding? Ur usually done with that stuff early. U ok?

To: Futakuchi  
From: Aone  
Subject: Re: LOL  
Message:…My online friend from Tokyo wanted to double battle last night. ʕง•ᴥ•ʔง

To: Aone  
From: Futakuchi  
Subject: Aone is a nerd  
Message: U kno when I bought u Pokemon for ur bday I ddnt know u would love it this much u nerd.

To: Aone  
From: Futakuchi  
Subject: Re: Aone is a nerd  
Message: U won right?

To: Futakuchi  
From: Aone  
Subject: Re: Re: Aone is a nerd  
Message: We did. ୧ʕ•̀ᴥ•́ʔ୨

To: Aone  
From: Futakuchi  
Subject: Aone is the top nerd  
Message: Congrats. I’m such a good friend.

To: Aone  
From: Futakuchi  
Subject: Re: Aone is the top nerd  
Message: Speaking of good friends. Ur one. So come over and help me with my hw.

To: Aone  
From: Futakuchi  
Subject: Re: Re: Aone is the top nerd  
Message: Please.

To: Futakuchi  
From: Aone  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Aone is the top nerd  
Message: Ok. I’ll come later. Bringing parents some food first. ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

To: Aone  
From: Futakuchi  
Subject: What?  
Message: I thought oba-san had a day off today and oji-san wasn’t on call?

To: Futakuchi  
From: Aone  
Subject: Re: What?  
Message: There was an emergency so they had to take extra shifts.

To: Aone  
From: Futakuchi  
Subject: Ok  
Message: Tell them I say hi and to stop working so hard. See u later.

To: Futakuchi  
From: Aone  
Subject: Re: Ok  
Message: Ok, Captain.

 

 

\---

 

 

Aone stares at his phone screen in mild awe, blinking at the message he’d just sent back to Futakuchi and feels a hot wave of _something_ ripple from his chest outwards to the rest of him.

He wonders if that was alright to say, hopes Futakuchi won’t be mad over that. It’s not a lie. Just the truth. And Aone is proud of him, every fiber of his being relentlessly sure and trusting of Futakuchi taking over the team, but that ache is _still_ there, coiling around his muscles. The ache he knows Futakuchi and the rest of the team keep beneath their skin, itchy and prickling like nothing else.

Futakuchi will be a good captain. 

That’s not a lie. Just the truth.

Moniwa was a good captain, still _is_ a good captain.

But Moniwa and the others, Kamasaki and Sasaya. They’re leaving.

They’re _leaving_ and Aone is going to _miss_ them.

That’s not a lie either.

 

 

\---

 

 

There is a gentle but constant weight on Aone’s right shoe, pressing the material of his sneakers against the dorsal of his foot. He lowers his phone and looks down, breath hitching at finding a large paw perched over his shoelaces.

Aone drags his gaze from the paw to the rest of the animal, sugar brown coat shiny and brushed immaculately. He locks eyes with the dark chocolate of a German Shepherd, police badge clipped to its collar proudly.

The dog licks its nose, still keeping eye contact. A second later and its tail starts to thump against the traincar’s floor.

Aone is _stunned_. Stunned and _beyond charmed_. He’s been accused of being a suspicious passenger on trains before, and the fact that he can never manage a seatmate on any commute is a testament to that. It’s why he chose a lone seat near one of the car doors, his right side leaning against the metal pole where an officer’s hand is gripping firmly, leash hanging from her wrist.

So Aone thinks it’s very rational for him to be shocked and just a little bit giddy over an officer and their dog– _no, wait, that’s rude,_ an officer and their partner being completely fine standing so close to him.

And, well. Aone can’t help it if he straightens up in his sea, both hands now fiddling idly with his phone, and glancing back at the dog who isn’t just standing next to him but _sitting (!!!)_ next to him, paw still on his shoe.

He stills at that, considering that maybe his posture is wrong, that maybe he’s taking up too much space sitting and should close his legs more. Maybe it’s not his legs but just his feet. He nods to himself, reaching an acceptable conclusion and slowly eases his right foot away from the dog’s paw, letting it slide to the floor softly.

The officer doesn’t seem to notice or mind his movements, so Aone calls that a win and sighs with relief. The dog, however, _does_ notice and _does_ mind.

It huffs out a soft  _‘wan’_ before placing its paw back on Aone’s shoe like it belongs there. Like perhaps Aone is under arrest and the dog only needs his paw to restrain him.

Aone blinks and repeats himself, sliding his foot away and watching the dog’s paw return to the floor with little fanfare.

The dog snorts, returning its paw on his shoe, eyes never leaving Aone’s face.

“He’s playing.” The officer breathes out past a laugh, voice light and kind. She smiles at Aone like he’s just any other citizen and nods to her partner.

Aone smiles back tentatively, nodding to her in gratitude for explaining. Feeling awkward but much too curious to leave things as is. “Um.”

The officer turns to him slightly, giving him her full attention as they stop at the next station. “Yes?”

“His name?” Aone manages to murmur, flipping his phone open then closed again and again, eyes darting between the officer and the dog.

“Haru.” She says affectionately, beaming in approval as the dog turns to her at the sound of his name. “He’s a new graduate. Very friendly too. It’s a bit of a problem if he bothers people too much but he’s the top of his class.”

Aone understands what she means. It’s nice for the dog to be relaxed around people, but not being alert and restrained may be a problem in the field if he’s not kept in check.

“You know,” The officer hums and puts a firm hand on Aone’s shoulder, “Haru usually only plays that game when he feels like someone’s upset.”

Aone is stunned a second time, looking up at her with wide and curious eyes, “Game?”

“The paw thing?” She explains and clicks her tongue, making Haru shuffle closer to the both of them as more people file into the car with them. “It’s a game where he puts his paw on your foot and you try to shake him off. He makes it heavier and heavier each turn until one of you gives up.”

Aone eyes her as if she were Futakuchi, playing a prank on Kamasaki in the locker rooms with tall tales the third year end up believing until the big reveal that they, unsurprisingly, weren’t true.

“Come on, kid,” She snorts, just like Haru, “It’s true. Go ahead, try it again.”

Aone considers not following her instructions, but she’s an officer and he’s a minor. He doesn’t really want to get arrested for insubordination on a Sunday. So he watches Haru intently, slowly sliding his foot forward in silent offering.

Haru tilts his head at him, taking in his face for a full minute before placing his paw back on his foot, noticeably heavier now that Aone knows to pay attention to the weight of it.

Aone lets a laugh squeeze past his smiling lips, raising his foot and feeling Haru shift a bit to press his weight down on it, willing it to return to the floor.

“See?” The officer says, but then the automated voice trickles out of the speakers, announcing the next station drawing near, and she smiles apologetically down at both Aone and her partner.

“Sorry, kid, that’s our stop. Say bye now, Haru.” Haru whines and eyes her, snorting out air that it almost sounds like an indignant scoff. His partner doesn’t take to kindly to that and snaps her fingers, and the whining stops immediately.

Aone thinks of Futakuchi again, fondly wondering if he’ll try doing that to the first years.

Haru pats his foot twice, letting out one more  _‘wan’_ before butting his head against Aone’s knee softly.

“He’s saying, ‘hang in there!’” The officer explains to him, smiling in agreement as the doors open and a group of people flood out. “Whatever it is, you’ll get through it.”

Aone stares after them, back of an officer’s uniform and a tail swishing left and right, and holds back a too wide smile, bowing hard in his seat, barking out a loud, “Thank you very much!” that startles a few commuters as the doors start to close.

 

 

\---

 

 

Aone arrives at Souma Medical with the grace and resignation of a son raised by half the hospital staff. He greets them with a shy but comfortable smile, accepts all the cooing and hair ruffling, ducks his head at the mention of how he keeps growing every time he comes to visit, and awkwardly hugs most of the senior staff who were there when he was born.

He finds his parents taking a break in the cafeteria, much to his relief. It’s hard to miss his mother with how tall she is, even when she’s sitting down. His father has his head pressed to the table, one hand curved around a paper cup of steaming coffee while the other is stretched out across the table to hold his mother’s hand. His mother isn’t drinking coffee, or eating, simply scrolling through her phone and sighing tiredly.

“Hi,” Aone says simply from behind her, paper bag behind his back and a small, sheepish smile on his face.

His mother turns her head around lightning quick at his voice, whipping him in the face with her ponytail. “Taka-chan, what are you doing here?”

Aone blinks a few times to get the sting of his mother’s pale hair out of his eyes, holding the paper bag out to them and tilting his head. “Brunch.”

His mother smiles warmly at him, setting down her phone and releasing his father’s hand to tug him into a hug. “Thank you.”

“It’s just the monaka and some tea.” He hedges as he wraps his arms around her, placing the bag on the table as she squeezes him. He flushes when one of the anesthesiologists he’s known since he was eleven coos and raises his cola towards them as he passes by.

“It’s like a movie!”

“Be quiet, Nakagawa-kun.”

Aone hears his father grunt awake, apparently having fallen asleep in his position. He lets go of his coffee and yawns, stretching his arms above his head before noticing Aone staring at him with his wife crushing him in a hug.

He and Aone blink at each other, his arms above his head mid-stretch and one of Aone’s hands waving at him.

“Son,” He mumbles, “Come. Hug.” And his father is making grabbing motions at him.

Aone bunches up his eyebrows and shoots both of his parents a long suffering look.

He laughs a little, soft and mostly breath huffing out fondly past his mouth, and pries himself away from his mother to go hug his sleep-deprived father.

“Wanna help me put the IV in some patients?” He offers while falling asleep on his shoulder.

“No,” Aone says immediately, patting his head, “Thanks.”

His mother opens the bento, setting out the thermos of tea on the table and starts eating, tugging on the hem of her husband’s scrubs to sit back down. “Sano, sit down and eat. If you just keep drinking coffee you’ll stay shorter than me and your son forever.”

“I don’t have to listen to you, Keiko,  _I’m_ a _nurse_.” He says proudly from the safety of his son’s shoulder.

Aone stares at the top of his father’s head, lowering him to his seat and putting a monaka in his hand.

“Dear, I’m a doctor, on _ocassion_ , you’re supposed to listen to me.”

Aone subtly moves the steaming cup of coffee away from his father, just in case his sleep-addled mind decides it would be an appropriate response to throw it at someone, when he spots the familiar uniform of two paramedics past them. 

His godfather is walking by, looking ready to head out with his partner and a few boxes of supplies.

“I have homework.” He says simply.

His parents look at him and smile, mother squeezing his arm. “Thanks, Taka-chan. We’ll be home before dinner, okay?”

Aone nods and bows to them, scurrying after his godfather and hoping to hitch a ride back home, then to Futakuchi’s.

The duo is taking supplies to a sister hospital, his godfather explains. He gets told he’s a good son for taking food to his parents when they settle into the ambulance, so Aone feels slightly justified for asking to play the vehicle’s siren for just under a few seconds.

 

 

\---

 

 

Aone texts Futakuchi that he’s arrived once he’s at the other boy’s front porch, his godfather and his partner are is still parked in front, waiting for him to go in before heading off. It makes Aone stand stock still, grip on his shoulder bag clenching and unclenching for making them wait.

The door opens with the familiar creak that Aone knows is probably as old as his friendship with Futakuchi. His teammate stands there, one hand on the doorknob and another stuck inside a plastic bag of sour gummies.

“Ah, hey, finally,” Futakuchi says with his mouth full, he tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at the ambulance blatantly parked in front of his house, “That for me?”

Aone grunts out a laugh.

Futakuchi seems to interpret that as “Asked for a ride,” which is right, and waves his sour gummy-gloved hand at the ambulance before it drives off, making way for Aone to come in.

“Did you get to play the siren?” Futakuchi asks ahead of him while they’re going up the stairs.

Aone laughs louder this time, puffing up proudly with a quiet “Yes.”

 

 

\---

 

 

Aone taps the stylus of his 3DS against the edge of his monitor in thought, brow furrowing and mouth rumbling out a long and concentrated “Hmm.”

He’s slid himself almost fully under Futakuchi’s bed, leaving his chest up to his head lain out on the floor, chin propped up on his knuckles with his hand splayed against the carpet.

“You know,” Futakuchi drawls from above him on his bed, sprawled out on his stomach like Aone with their finished literature homework under his thigh and still eating his weight in sour gummies, “If kaa-san catches you under there again she’s gonna give you that lecture about dust allergies again.”

Aone grunts and taps his stylus on the touchscreen, ordering his Venasaur to unleash Petal Blizzard on the opponent’s Vaporeon. “It’s clean.”

It dies after being hit and Aone makes a little fist pump to celebrate his victory, he hears Futakuchi snickering and kicks the mattress from under the bed with his foot.

Futakuchi bounces a bit, narrowly choking on a sour gummy, and thwacks him on the head. “Hell yeah, it’s clean, because I clean it since you’re always trying to move in down there.”

“It’s cozy.” Aone confesses when his opponent throws out a Charizard. “Hmph.”

“Hah, you are _so_ dead.” Futakuchi crows, smiling smugly while decapitating a sour gummy bear when Aone looks up at him to stare flatly.

“You’re a good friend.” He mutters flatly, making a point the way he usually does before staring back at his arsenal of attacks.

Futakuchi frowns at him, obviously affected and annoyed, but then mumbles out, “Taunting is a form of encouragement.”

Aone huffs out a breath and places his stylus on the carpet next to his 3DS, rolling over to look up at Futakuchi again, head resting next to the console where his Pokemon is still awaiting his orders.

“Futakuchi.” He calls, even if Futakuchi is staring down at him, mouth devoid of sour gummies and cheek mashed against his arm, watching him curiously. “Yeah?”

“Tomorrow.”

Futakuchi shifts his gaze to the 3DS screen, mouth and nose sinking past his folded arms as if trying to hide from that word. “Nothing’s going to change.”

The battle music from the game hums tinny and soft in the room, looping in an infinite melody before Futakuchi clicks his tongue and glares at Aone.

“Nothing’s going to change.” He insists, fingers digging into the soft material of his hoodie sleeves.

Aone frowns at him, reaches up to tug his right hand away from his sleeve, then his left, to stop his nails from pressing into his arms.

He places his own hands on his chest, fingers fitting together and tips of his thumbs meeting. “They’re leaving.”

“So?” He hisses and raises his chin from behind his arms to rest it on top of them again, a bare tremble on his lips.

Aone does the polite thing and looks away, picks up his 3DS and continues to play from his current position instead, foregoing the stylus and selecting his next move with the buttons.

“I’ll miss them.” Aone finally says as the opponent knocks out his Venasaur in one blow.

“We’ve been over this, Aone.” Futakuchi says with a sigh, sound tired and aching the way Aone knows they all are right now, “They have a stupid farewell thing tomorrow and it’s all set.”

Aone nods while closing his 3DS, placing it on his stomach and staring up at the ceiling.

He feels the ache in his chest again, but then remembers a weight on his foot, making him breathe out slowly.

“Futakuchi.”

This time Futakuchi doesn’t say anything, just waits and watches him, eyes narrowed and lips still with the slightest of tremors.

“I think they’ll miss us too.”

Futakuchi’s breath hitches and his narrowed eyes turn glassy, mouth shaking as he looks away.

Aone makes sure not to look back at him when the first tears slide down the other boy’s face.

“Spring Tournament.” Aone croaks out, eyes stinging with that familiar ache again.

Futakuchi coughs, masking a sniffle and nodding his head, teeth gritted and determined, “Spring Tournament.”

“Don’t cry, Captain.” Aone tests with gentle humor in his thick voice.

Futakuchi hmphs at him, swiping at his eyes and keeping his arm there. “Why don’t you come up here and say that to my face, asshole?”

Aone lets out a small and wet laugh, rolling his head to the side and catching the number two of Futakuchi’s uniform staring down at him.

He feels warmth run down the corner of his eye and he stares right back.

Tomorrow is Monday. The first day of the school week. At afternoon practice there will be balloons and cupcakes shaped like volleyballs and little third years standing on them. There will be streamers and ramen, speeches and some sort of performance by the first years. There’s going to be Futakuchi, as captain. Weeks of training until they can stand on the court again.

And–

It’s swirling storm clouds thundering beneath his skin and lighting up his bones. Unpredictable and erratic like quicks that puncture their Iron Wall.

It’s the _future_.

Aone isn’t ready.

But he will be.

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry about Aone and Dateko with me on my [tumblr](http://slothesaurus.tumblr.com), please.


End file.
